See You When You Get There
by Elina
Summary: "The clock on the wall kept ticking." (A post-ep to In the Shadow of Two Gunmen)


****

Author: Elina 

****

Rating: PG-13

****

Summary: Post-episode to 'In a shadow of two gunmen" _(again) _"The clock on the wall kept ticking."

****

A/N: Another one of the tragic stories of mine. Go ahead, just dive in, it won't bite you. Hard. 

****

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I wish I did, but I don't.

****

See You When You Get There

-------------------------------------------------------

__

Not the Red Baron

Not Charlie Brown

Think I got the message figured

Another pilot down

And are there devils 

With halos in beautiful capes

Taking them into the flames

Maybe I'll just sing him a last little sound

Many there know some girls with red ribbons

The prettiest red 

Ribbons

(by Tori Amos)

-------------------------------------------------------

__

"Josh! Where are you?"

"Josh?"

There was chaos all around me. People screaming, sirens shrieking. I didn't know what was happening, not even when I hit the ground. All I could think, somewhere in the back of my puzzling mind, was that I had to find cover. I crawled on my knees behind some kind of a concrete wall, leant my back against it.

There was blood.

There was blood on my hands. Fresh, warm blood. Where did that come from? I didn't understand, I didn't understand that it was coming from me, inside of me, not even when I looked down and saw my shirt covered with it. 

A dream. Like a dream.

The voices around me mumbled, as if they were muffled. 

My breathing became heavy, it was hard to inhale.

I saw people running past me, flashing lights all around me. They were screaming even louder, the voices pounding in my ears now, the voices. The voices... I tried to yell for help, I tried to make my voice carry, but I couldn't. 

I felt so tired.

I saw her face, I heard her voice, her laughter. But when I reached out to touch her she wasn't there. 

The world seemed like a slow-motion picture. The time stopped. I could hear the blood rushing through my veins. After some time, could've been minutes, could've been hours, I heard someone calling my name. I tried to call out, but I couldn't form the words, it was like all my strength had flown out of me. Then I saw someone, standing in front of me. But I couldn't say anything. 

And I fell.

****

SAM'S POV:

Tap, tap, tap, tap. 

My fingers were tapping against the arm of the chair in slow rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. The events of tonight were only beginning to sink into my consciousness.

Seeing him lying there was....

I glanced around the room. The hospitals private room was full of people, but still it felt empty, all sucked out of air. CJ, Toby, Dr. Bartlet, Charlie, Zoey... Donna. She was sitting there with her back towards me, so I couldn't see her face. But I could see it with my mind's eye; her reflection all shattered to pieces with worry and fear. The same kind of fear I was feeling.

Almost eight hours now. Almost eight hours since the shooting. Eight hours since Toby found him. Almost eight hours of surgery. Eight hours of waiting. Eight hours of constant fear every time somebody opened the door.

Eight hours of silence.

I studied the faces, the poses of the others, all equally as intense: Toby holding CJ's hand, Dr. Bartlet's distant gaze looking to nowhere, all of them ready to jump up and act. Waiting. We were all just waiting. We were all waiting for the worst, hoping for good news, but somewhere deep down, waiting for the worst.

The president's doing fine. Dr. Bartlet just came from him, she said that he was praying. I'm not too eager on God myself, but I was too, I was praying.

The clock on the wall kept ticking.

****

TOBY'S POV:

The corridor was empty. It was like the entire hospital staff had disappeared. There was no one around to give us any information. And the drink machine wouldn't work. I'd tried half a dozen times, but it kept eating my money. I gave it a hard kick. Nothing.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. This isn't working, any of this. Josh has been in surgery for 11 hours now. Anytime now, anytime, we would hear the news. I turned around and left to find the gents. I need to splash some cold water on my face. 

It has been a long night.

My footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, making an eerie sound. I found the right door from the end of the corridor and pushed it open. A cool breeze hit me in the face as I entered. That room was empty too. A long, tired sigh escaped from my lungs as I opened the tap and cold water started rushing on my cupped hands. I splashed my face with it a couple of times and dried myself. Finally, after leaning against the table with my head bowed for some time, I rose my head to meet my own glance from the mirror. I looked like hell. The long night, unshed tears, the weariness, the fear, all of it had left its mark. I studied my image. And I still can't believe what's happening. 

I tossed the paper into the trashcan. The day had begun so fine. Everything had been fine.

How can things change so fast?

As I left the restroom I saw him, the doctor. He was just opening the door to the private room. Through the blurry glass of the room's window I saw everybody rising up. So I started hurrying my steps. I tried to study their faces, especially Donna's, to see what kind of news he was bringing, but I couldn't read their expression. Sam stood there, his face at my direction, his eyes locked at the doctor. The rest of the way along the corridor felt like miles. I looked at Sam, trying to read his face.

Then I stopped. I stunned.

It was this little hint, little reflection in his eyes. He just turned his glance down, and I knew.

He's dead.

The corridor felt so empty, even emptier than it had before, and the world around me disappeared. I watched as they crumbled, all of them inside that little room. I watched their sudden grief, their shock from the outside. There were no sounds, no world in the corridor, just that distant smell of sickness and fear. And finally it sunk in.

He's dead.

****

DONNA'S POV:

The ceremony had been beautiful. The president had spoken beautifully, touching, about him. So had Sam, CJ and Toby. Toby even had to take a couple of pauses in the middle of his speech before he could continue. CJ had cried a bit. Only Sam stood strong. I hadn't dared to get up on the stand: I was afraid I'd burst into tears. 

The church was beautiful, the coffin too, the cemetery was beautiful, the view from the gravesite was beautiful. Everything was beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

His death wasn't beautiful.

It was cruel.

I can't believe he's really gone. I've cried night and day for the past days, but I still can't believe he's gone. Every time I walk around the White House, I expect for him to come around any corner I see and say it's all right. To say he's all right. But he doesn't come. Every time I walk past his office I wait for him to bellow my name. But he doesn't. One morning I even caught myself sitting on the edge of my bed with a phone in my hand, calling him to wake him up for a brand new day.

But he's gone. The ceremony was over, the crowd was slowly scattering. Sam's still there, by my side. He hasn't shed a tear since Josh died. He's not allowing himself to grief, to feel pain. They were very close, I know that, they were like brothers. He needs his time to mourn, his space. I reached out my hand to touch his, but he pulled away. His eyes were full of pain as he turned and left me standing there all alone. He can't accept it nor forgive.

I can't either. But I try to carry on, to live my life, one step at a time, maybe some day start living again without his memory haunting me.

How could I? The only man I ever truly cared for is gone. I keep missing him with every inch of my soul and my body. It's too soon to ask me to understand. It'll always be too soon.

From the side of my eye I saw Charlie standing next to the President's car. He'd been trying to keep his distance from the rest of the staff. When he'd first found that he was the real target, he had asked for resignation. The President had refused to give it to him. Charlie broke all his connections to the First Family, to Zoey, at once, though. He feels guilty; he feels he's responsible, that everybody's blaming him. That's not true. The sick minds of the shooters are to blame, not Charlie. He's a good man, he couldn't have prevented it. It was because of those twisted games of fate that Josh got hit.

The grave was filled, a sea of flowers, bouquets and memorial wreaths were covering it. I hadn't left anything on it yet. I waited until all the others had left, until the place went quiet.

I hadn't cried at the ceremony. I kept my tears private, to myself. Besides, I'd shed so many tears in the past few days that I didn't think I had any left. I was wrong. They were still there; I felt them coming before they even filled my eyes, 'cause they burned. They burned like fire, not in my eyes but in my heart. As I stood there, with a single red rose in my hand, the tears started flowing, slowly, like feathers, leaving warm, salty trails on my cheeks. And I stood there and let them flow. Now I could cry, now, when there's no one around me telling me it's going to be all right. Because it's not.

I knelt down on the ground, on one knee, after the tears had stopped running and dried out, and pressed my hand against the grass. I could still feel him, his warmth, his strength, through the earth. I couldn't imagine his body lying there though, not even after seeing his body in the coffin in the church. It was surreal, I just couldn't picture it. I lifted the rose up on my lips and gave it a small kiss. This one's for you, Josh. Then I laid it on top of all the others. Attached to it there was a small envelope containing a little note. Three simple words:

I love you.

I whispered them in the air, too. I guess I was hoping that somehow he could still hear them. I never had the chance to say them to him when he was alive. I rose and turned to leave. Then I heard it.

It was like the wind, the warm breeze had whispered the words into my ear. Not such as words, more like soft sounds from the rustling leaves, the birds and the silence formed into words. I could recognize his voice. His soft, tender voice. But when I turned around, he wasn't there. No one was there.

But the words were vivid, still echoing in the wind. "I love you too."

Maybe I'd imagined it. Maybe it was all in my head, wishful thinking. But it had felt so real. It was like he was there, standing before me, touching me, smiling at me. And I believed him, I believed his words. Because, suddenly, there was no sadness anymore, no grief or terror of waking up without him. Instead, like the wind had gone right through me, leaving it's mark inside of me and taking away the pain, I felt loved, embraced, fearless, warm. Eased.

And I knew he was happy now, where ever he was, that he was all right. I knew he'd always be there, watching me, guarding me. He'd me waiting for me.

Until we meet again.


End file.
